


Don't Call Me Daughter

by searchingwardrobes



Series: Fandom Birthday Playlist [38]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan Future Fic, Daddy Charming, Emma's Past, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Past Child Neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21738292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: The past collides with the present when Emma gets an upsetting phone call. But she isn’t a lost girl anymore.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan & Emma Swan
Series: Fandom Birthday Playlist [38]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1239404
Comments: 28
Kudos: 119





	Don't Call Me Daughter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Courtorderedcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Courtorderedcake/gifts).



> * Happy belated birthday, Court! You are a strong woman, just like Emma Swan, and the lines I used from this Pearl Jam song describe you as well: "She holds the hand that holds her down / She will rise above"  
> * This fic doesn’t follow the season seven timeline simply because it makes my head hurt and it was just easier to ignore it. I also needed Emma’s past in the Land Without Magic to touch her in the present, and the whole “all the realms are in Maine” wouldn’t really work here. Therefore, this is three years after the season six finale. Henry is sixteen Neal Nolan is three, and baby Hope is two months old.

Neither Emma nor Killian would say that their pasts were a faded, distant memory. Trauma just wasn’t that easy to get over. They would say, however, that this life they’d built in Storybrooke made the memories easier to handle. They had legit, “I’d go to hell and back for you”, family and friends. They had the home of their dreams where they could give Henry and Hope all the things they never had. They no longer felt the pang of hunger or the bite of cold.

Most of all, they had each other. Having each other meant sharing the burden of those memories for the first time. It was like peeling an onion, and Emma didn’t mean that metaphor in the usual sense. She meant the layers stung like hell, so they could only handle tiny bits at a time. It was okay, though, Killian told her. They had a lifetime together. 

Taking the pain a tiny piece at a time was why the phone call came as such a shock for both of them. It wasn’t that Emma forgot about Hank, it’s just she’d never heard anyone speak of him aloud in almost thirty years. 

Killian watched her face go pale, saw her arm go limp even though he could still hear a tiny voice coming through the speaker of her phone. 

“Emma? Is everything okay?”

She dropped the phone without ending the call, and it hit one of the throw pillows and slid to the edge of the couch. Without saying a word, she headed upstairs, and Killian snatched the phone up and pressed it to his ear. The person on the other end was saying “hello? Ms. Swan, are you there?”

“This is Mr. - this is her husband,” Killian said. Though Storybrooke was no longer isolated from the outside world, Killian still essentially didn’t exist outside of its borders. Their marriage, though real in every way that mattered, wasn’t legally official outside of their little hamlet of fairy tale characters. 

“Oh,” the woman on the line said, “well, could you just let her know that visiting hours end at nine pm?”

Killian’s brow furrowed. “Visiting hours?”

“Yes, if she’d like to come visit Hank Gregory. Her foster father?”

Killian sank to the edge of the couch. “Could you fill me in, please? My wife was a little - overwhelmed by your call.” 

“Well, Mr. Gregory was admitted to Maine Medical Center here in Portland about two days ago with complications from both liver disease and diabetes. We’ve done all we can for him, but he’s been admitted into the ICU.”   
The woman took a deep breath, as if gathering her strength to get the next words out. 

“I told your wife this already, but he doesn’t have a lot of time. We asked if he had any next of kin he’d like us to contact, and your wife’s name and number was all he gave us. He said she was his foster daughter?”

Killian rubbed the curve of his hook against his chin. No wonder the nurse phrased it as a question - this call likely wasn’t going the way she had envisioned. Across the room, Henry had discarded his video game controller and was watching Killian with a question furrowing his brow. Killian wished he weren’t so worried himself because it’s one thing for the man to have Emma’s name. It was quite another for him to have her cell phone number.

“Let me jot down those visitation hours,” he finally told the nurse, motioning to Henry to get a pad of paper and a pen. The lad dashed to the kitchen and fished them out of the junk drawer. Killian repeated the information from the nurse as Henry scribbled it down. After ending the call, Henry regarded him intensely.

“What was that all about? Mom seemed really upset.”

Killian sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not one hundred percent sure yet, Henry.”

***************************************************************

“Are you’re absolutely positive that you want to do this, love?”

Emma was clutching the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, but she nodded at Killian anyway. They were twenty minutes outside of Storybrooke, and she’d been completely silent the entire time.

“I need answers. The man treated me like shit for two years, and now, 24 years later, he calls out of the blue?”

Killian really wasn’t sure what to say, so he merely rubbed Emma’s arm with the curve of his hook. She smiled at the gesture, and her body relaxed. One of her hands released the steering wheel, and she reached over to grasp his. He lifted it to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. 

“The bastard isn’t going to die without me getting a thing or two off my chest, either,” she added with a bitter chuckle. 

There was a time a few years ago that the anger radiating from her and the harshness of her words would have him worried. His mind would have gone immediately to his own bitterness towards his father and the darkness that kind of path leads to. But now he knew better. Emma had faced the darkness and risen above it. He also knew she had to face her demons on her own terms.

“I’m right beside you, Swan, you know that.”

Her face relaxed and she turned her palm to lace their fingers together. She lifted their hands and pressed her lips to the back of his before letting go so she could put two hands back on the wheel. She bore right and soon the Bug was heading down 295 to Portland. 

**********************************************************

Maine Medical Center was enormous, comprised of several different buildings. To make matters worse, parts of it were being renovated and construction zones were everywhere. They finally found the correct building, finally found a parking deck, and then walked what felt like a million miles to the ICU. Killian had never been anywhere but Storybrooke General, but this massive place had the same sterile smell and chilly air. He noticed Emma shivering and put his arm around her as they walked. She leaned into him, clasping his prosthetic hand in hers, his hook not exactly appropriate for the setting. 

“Thank you for coming here with me,” she whispered. 

“It’s what a husband does,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

His quip at least elicited a tiny chuckle from her. They approached the nurses station for the ICU, and Emma told them who she was and that she was here to see Hank Gregory. A smiling woman in her sixties whose spectacles reminded him of Granny Lucas led them to the correct room, which looked more to Killian like a glass prison. She eased the door open and called to the patient in the bed with a voice only slightly above a whisper. 

“Mr. Gregory, you have visitors.”

The man’s eyes blinked open, and he turned his head towards the open door. He was covered in wires and tubes, and things blinked and beeped all around him. The nurse pressed a gentle hand to Emma’s arm. 

“I’ll let you visit.”

Emma simply nodded, and Killian could tell she would rather flee. But she let out a long, slow breath and then took a step closer towards the man in the bed. His skin was pale and looked as thin as paper, littered in bruises. His eyes were sunken, his cheeks sallow, and there was a yellowish pallor to his face. He was mostly bald with only a few wisps of dingy gray hair. Killian glanced at Emma. She dropped her arms to her sides, and her hands were balled into tight fists. 

“Emma,” the man said on a struggled breath, “you came.”

“How the hell did you find me?” she bit back.

The man’s eyes blinked, moist with tears. He looked sad, resigned, but not angry or defensive. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you over the years. Trying to, anyway. You can be a hard girl to find.”

“Yeah, I kinda pride myself on it.”

He ignored her jab, and smiled at Killian. “And who is your young man here?”

“I’m not ten anymore, Hank. This isn’t my  _ young man _ , he’s my husband.”

“Killian Jones.” Killian gave the man a slight nod, unsure if he should attempt to shake his hand or not. He glanced nervously at Emma, wondering if she was offended by his polite greeting, but her gaze hadn’t left the man in the hospital bed. 

“Nice to meet you, son.”

“He’s not your anything.” Emma propped her hands on her hips. “How. Did. You. Find me?”

He sighed, his head sinking even farther into his pillow. “I saw you in the papers a few years back.  _ Emma Swan Always Gets Her Man _ , that was the headline. I’ve done some, well . . . work with computers, so I -”

“You obtained my personal information illegally, right? Did you know I’m a sheriff now?”

Hank tilted his head. “No, actually, I didn’t. Funny thing, I was following your career in New York, even found out about your son -”

“You stay the hell away from Henry!”

Hank ignored her “-but then the two of you just . . . disappeared. I held onto your number, though. When I gave it to the nurse, I wasn’t sure if it would even work. I was even less sure that you would come.”

Emma’s chin was tilted, and Killian knew what that meant. “Why me?”

“You’re all I’ve got left, Emma. You were my daughter, for God’s sake!”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your daughter. I never was.”

“Maybe not by blood, but I loved you like my own -”

“You don’t know what love even is!” Emma was shouting now, and Killian glanced nervously at the door. He wasn’t going to stop her, though. Obviously, whatever was pouring out of her had been bottled up for years. Hank was obviously not long for this world, and he knew better than anyone that his wife needed to say everything that had been left unsaid. 

Hank was crying now, tears catching in the wrinkles that marred his face. “I didn’t treat you right, I know that, but I did love you, Emma. I did.”

Emma shook her head. “Really? You loved me so much you spent all of the money on liquor while I starved? Loved me so much you spent every waking moment in that damn recliner with the tv on? Do you know how many times I had to clean you up after you’d puked all over yourself? How many times I had to haul trash bags full of empty bottles out to the curb?”

“I know, I know!” Hank was sobbing now, his voice breaking as he struggled to speak. “When Denine and I took you in, we were gonna do it together. We were so excited to give you a home. But then she died, and I . . . she was my life, Emma. I was grieving so badly that I lost myself in the drinking, and -”

“I was grieving too!” Emma shouted. “And I was only ten!”

An awkward silence fell then, the sounds of the hospital machines louder within it. Hank’s gaze trailed to the ceiling, and his hands picked nervously at the thin hospital blanket. He let out a shaky sigh before finally speaking again. 

“I’m dying, Emma. My liver’s useless, my kidneys are failing.” Groaning, he struggled to sit up in the bed, his right hand shaking violently as he reached for the blanket across his lap. When he yanked it aside, Killian’s eyes widened in surprise to see legs that ended in blunted stumps where feet should have been. Emma, however, didn’t react at all. 

“Look at me,” Hank choked out. “I hated myself so much, I literally killed myself. Didn’t give a shit about my diabetes, so I lost my feet.”

“Serves you right,” Emma replied coldly.

“You’re right, it does,” Hank agreed, awkwardly covering himself back up and collapsing against his pillows. “Denine would be devastated if she saw me now.”

“She was good to me,” Emma whispered, hugging her arms around herself. 

Hank nodded, tears gathering in his eyes once again. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was before it’s too late. I hoped that maybe we could -”

“Fine,” Emma interrupted him, “you got to apologize, but if you think that means I’ll forgive you, then I guess you’re gonna die disappointed.”

Emma completely ignored the broken man as he sobbed in the hospital bed, turning instead for the door and striding from the room. Killian followed her, but he couldn’t help glancing back at Hank Gregory with sympathy. 

****************************************************************

Emma felt physically drained, yet a buzz of righteous anger still tingled along her skin. Killian, however, had fallen into a melancholy she couldn’t understand. They had decided to get lunch in the hospital cafeteria rather than drive around trying to find a place to eat. They had found a spot to sit next to a window looking out at a courtyard, and Killian seemed far more interested in watching the people walking past than the food in front of him. 

“Hey,” Emma said softly, reaching out to grasp his hand, “what’s wrong?”

He gave her that smile that never fooled her because it didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing, love, really.”

As if to try and prove it to her, he picked up his fork and speared a piece of broccoli. Not very convincing, however, when it never reached his mouth. Emma sighed and put down her grilled cheese.

“Yeah right, nothing.” She regarded his brooding nervously, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “Do you think I’m an awful person? To yell at a dying man like that?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. As difficult as it was, it had to be said.”

If anything, Killian’s words only made him look more depressed. Emma frowned. “But you think I should go back and forgive him?”

Killian shrugged. “I can’t tell you what to do in a situation like this. I confess, I wish you would, but . . . “

“But what?”

He finally met her eyes, dropping the fork with the uneaten broccoli. “Can’t you see it, Swan?”

Her brow furrowed. “See what?”

“Is there really that much difference between me and Hank Gregory?”

Emma couldn’t help it, a short laugh escaped her lips. “You can’t be serious.”

“A one-handed pirate with a drinking problem,” he grumbled.

“What?”

Killian rubbed his forehead, unable to look at her. “It’s what Pan said in Neverland when I told him you were finally seeing me for who I really am.”

Emma rolled her eyes, though she knew Killian was serious. “And you’re going to believe that psychopath?”

“Well, he wasn’t wrong. And here you are, refusing to forgive . . . an alcoholic with no feet.”

Emma’s eyes widened as his words sank in, then her face softened and tears moistened her eyes. “Oh babe,” she told him softly, grasping his hand again and rubbing his knuckles with her thumb, “you’re nothing like him. I’ve seen you drink too much, sure, but you’re not an alcoholic. You’ve never neglected me or Henry or Hope. You’ve done nothing but put us first.” She let out a long, slow breath, relieved when she saw a tiny glimmer spark in her husband’s eyes. “Hank ignored me, neglected me, yelled at me and called me names for two long, excruciating years.”

“Oh Swan,” he told her in a choked voice, “I’m not sure I was much better after losing Milah.”

“No, stop it,” she said firmly, grasping his prosthetic and his hand firmly in both of hers. “That may be true, but I know you, better than anyone. I have no doubt in my mind that if a child needed you, you would have been there. As a matter of fact, you did just that, for Neal - I mean Bae.”

“And then I mucked it all up like I always -”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Jones.”

He gave a small laugh, and ducked his head. Since she didn’t seem to be getting through to him, she got up, plopped right down in his lap and cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. 

“Forget the past, remember? Isn’t that what we said on our wedding day?”

“Yes, but -”

“No buts. Hank Gregory was never a father to me. He sucked, okay? You, however, are the best father I could ever dream of for Henry and Hope.” She punctuated her words with a searing kiss, not giving a damn that they were in the middle of crowded, bustling Maine Medical Center. 

****************************************************

Emma rubbed her palms on her jeans nervously as she watched the dying man through the glass of his room in the ICU. Killian put his arm around her and pulled her close.

“You sure about this?” he asked. 

Emma nodded. “Yes. You were right, I did need to say those harsh words.” She turned to him and shrugged. “But they weren’t the only words. I guess I have too much of my parents in me.”

He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

With a steadying breath, she stepped away from her husband and opened the door. She had thought Hank was sleeping, but she had been wrong. He turned towards the door and smiled when he saw her.

“I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“Yeah, well . . . “ Emma shrugged as she approached his bed. She stepped to the foot of it and grasped the edge with both hands. “I was talking to my husband, and he reminded me that people can change.”

Hank’s eyes brightened with hopefulness. “I have changed, Emma, and I was hoping maybe I could get to know my daughter again.”

Emma lifted her hand. “Please don’t call me that, Hank. I found my real parents, and they’re wonderful people. My dad and I especially are close. He and I -” she chuckled, surprised when tears rose up in her eyes thinking of David. “Well, we’re a lot alike. My mom definitely says so about a hundred times a day.”

Tears rolled freely down Hank’s cheeks. “Oh, Emma, I’m so happy to hear that. Knowing that, I really think I can leave this world in peace.”

Emma blinked, startled. “What?”

“I was such a horrible parent to you, Emma, and you were so innocent. I never forgave myself, and I tortured myself after children’s services took you away wondering what happened to you. Wondering if you ever found a family to love you the way you always deserved.”

Emma nodded, the tears flowing freely on her own face. “I have. I really have.”

“Anyone else besides Henry, your parents, and that handsome husband of yours?”

“Yes,” Emma said, pulling her cell phone out of her jacket pocket as she came around to the side of the bed, “my baby girl Hope. Here she is on the day she was born.”

Hank’s trembling hand came out to bring the screen closer. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is, isn’t she?”

An awkward silence fell as Emma pocketed her phone. She shifted her feet awkwardly, wondering if she could really spit the words out she had come here to say. 

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Hank finally said. 

Emma’s face softened as she held his gaze. “Yes, I do. Not for you, but for me.” She took another deep breath and reached out to grasp Hank’s hand. “Hank, I forgive you.”

The man let out a long, shuddering breath, his eyes closing as he whispered, “thank you.” He must have been saving that breath for Emma’s words because as soon as it fell from his lips, every machine in the room started beeping. Emma was shoved out of the way as doctors and nurses rushed in to attend to the dying man. She found herself back in Killian’s arms, weeping against his shoulder. 

**********************************************************

The drive home was a bit surreal with nothing but silence their companion back to Storybrooke. Emma didn’t think the feeling was grief - she’d known that, and God, she’d never forget it. Yet she did feel emotionally spent, and wrung out of all coherent thought. Killian didn’t seem concerned by her silence, content to watch the scenery go by and hum along with the radio. Occasionally, he would take her hand in his and give her a reassuring smile. 

Emma was surprised when she saw the Welcome to Storybrooke sign - it was like she had driven home on autopilot. When they parked outside of their house, her heart flipped to see her dad’s truck. David came out on the porch before they had even exited the vehicle, Hope cradled in his arms. 

“Snow needed to take Neal to t-ball practice so I -” David’s words were cut off when Emma launched herself into his arms. His free arm came up to cup his daughter’s head, and he was shocked to hear her crying against him. He looked to Killian with a startled expression and was relieved when his son-in-law gave him a small smile and a tiny nod that Emma was fine. Killian gently took Hope from him, grinning as the two month old squealed in delight. His arms free, David held Emma tighter. 

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” he finally asked her. 

Emma pulled back, a smile lighting her face despite the tears. “Yeah, I am. Better than okay. I just . . . I love you, Dad.”

David swallowed back the lump in his throat. “I love you, too.”

_ She holds the hand that holds her down / She will rise above. _


End file.
